Nothing Changed
by RazMaKaz
Summary: "Nothing changed and for some reason, that bothered John at his very core." John & Sherlock. Friendship. Post-Reichenbach Fall


"Nothing Changed"

By: Avin Winter

Summary: "Nothing changed and for some reason, that bothered John at his very core." John & Sherlock post-Reichenbach Fall

Disclaimer: Don't own. Just torture.

He'd imagined this moment countless times in his head. He'd dreamt of it; he'd fantasized about it and it had become a daily obsession that he used to keep himself occupied. He thought, so often, that when Sherlock came back, he would be ready with a biting remark and a punch to the face. But, if you want to make God laugh, have a plan. Isn't that the saying? John couldn't remember; he couldn't think. He could _see_ past the doorway he was standing in. He wondered, briefly, if he had somehow smacked his head getting out of the cab. But, he couldn't remember that. He couldn't remember anything.

"John?" the voice asked again. It was smooth and low, just like he remembered it. It invaded his ears and screamed down his spine. It sounded so much like him…

"John, are you alright?"

John nodded dumbly after a moment, but had to put a hand up against the doorjamb. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, hoping to steady himself. When he opened them, Sherlock was standing in front of him, only a few feet away.

"Jesus…" John breathed as he startled and stepped back slightly. Sherlock cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes in concern.

"John—"

"Stop saying my name." John said with conviction, breathing heavily through his nose.

"Alright."

There was another long pause in which John finally found the courage to look at the man standing in front of him. He looked the same; nothing had changed and for some reason, that bothered John at his very core. He felt a white-hot stab of anger run through his gut.

"I thought you were dead." John said, matter-of-factly, having finally gathered some reserve of his wits.

"Good," Sherlock said, his face void of emotion. "I wanted you to think that."

"All part of the plan then?" John asked bitterly.

"Of course," Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes. John shook his head and pushed past him into the apartment. He strode to one of the large, open windows and ran a hand down his face. He couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the sheer insanity of it all.

"How?" John asked simply, spinning back around to face Sherlock. His friend sighed and rubbed his hands together as he took a few steps closer.

"That doesn't matter now," he explained. "What's important is that you're safe."

John gave his flat mate a look of disgust and shook his head.

"I don't expect you to understand—" Sherlock tried, but John's pop of laughter stopped him.

"You never do, Sherlock!"

"It's complicated, John."

"Ah, yes, and I'm far too stupid to figure it, right?"

"No," Sherlock said with conviction, pointing his finger at John.

There was silence, once again, in the flat.

"Fine." John said, after a moment. He threw his hands up and let them slap back down against his sides. As he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, he asked, "Why are you back? Why _now_?"

Sherlock didn't say anything for a long time. He just stood there, looking at John. Then, finally, something fell across his face, like a veil. It seeped into the cracks and between his eyebrows. If John didn't know any better, he'd say it was guilt. But, Sherlock didn't feel guilt.

"I'm sorry," he tried, the words stumbling off his lips as if it were the first time he'd ever said them. John was shocked for a moment before he realized what Sherlock was doing. He couldn't help but laugh.

"No you're not," John said. "You knew that's just what I wanted to hear."

"John—"

"Shut up, Sherlock." John said, a slight smile creeping onto his face.

John had thought long and hard about what he would say to Sherlock if he ever showed his face again. He'd thought he might laugh, or he might cry. He figured he would at least punch him in the face and give him something to think about.

What he hadn't imagined, though, was the fact that, in the end, he didn't care why. He didn't want an apology. This was Sherlock. All of it. And John knew that from the start.

"So, what's the case?" John asked.

Sherlock glanced at him and smiled out of the corner of his mouth.

"Right, I'll make the tea." John sighed, turning on his heal and heading for the kitchen.


End file.
